The Bow and the Brush. Part 1.
In conversation with Mike Cundy, who is a Renshi 5th Dan in Kyudo, the preserved ancient form of Japanese archery.
Mike Cundy in Osaka c1973.
Mike has been immersed in this Japanese Budo form for fifty-five years now, and I recently caught up with him to ask him about his years training and living in Japan in the early 1970’s.
I figured that subscribers who have an interest in martial arts, Japanese society and culture and a yearning to examine these themes in depth would be really interested in the tale Mike has to tell.
TS: Mike, you and have chatted many times about Japanese culture, art and society and specifically Kyudo. Just how did it all come about? I know you have used the word ‘serendipity’ to explain the chance encounters and turns your life took in the late 1960’s, just what happened to put you upon that path and end up in Japan?
MC: I was a student at Hornsey College of Art in London in 1968 and became very interested in Japanese art and was looking for an activity which would deepen my understanding. By pure chance (or serendipity), one of my tutors returned from Japan having studied Kyudo and wanting to start a club at the college. His name was George Ingham and he first saw Kyudo at a demonstration in London by Hanshi 10th Dan, Anzawa Heijiro Sensei, one of the greatest Kyudo teachers of his time, who was on his way to Germany to pay his respects at the grave of Eugen Herrigel (see below). Accompanying him was Hanshi 9th Dan, Onuma Hideharu Sensei who invited George to study in Japan. The result was a one-month sabbatical which formed the starting point for Kyudo in England. On reflection, it is a great tribute to Onuma Sensei’s ability as a teacher and George’s effort as a learner that he made such progress in such a relatively short space of time.
Following this introduction, I trained under George for two years in the UK with Onuma Sensei visiting Europe several times. During this time, I discovered that the Japanese Ministry of Education awarded several scholarships each year to foreign students. I applied through the British Council and after an interview, and showing them my artwork, I was given a place.
I went out to Japan in 1972 and spent three and a half years studying art at the Kyoto City College of Fine Art in the daytime and Kyudo in the evenings. Being based in the Kansai area (Osaka, Kyoto), Onuma Sensei introduced me to Takeuchi Sensei in Ashiya and Hiraki Sensei at the Butokuden in Kyoto, who took me under their wings.
Besides originally being the fifteenth-generation leader of the Heiki Ryu, Sekka Ha, school of Kyudo, Onuma Sensei was one of the founding members of the All Japan Kyudo Federation (ZNKR) in 1949, which standardised the form seen today. He believed passionately there was something universal about Kyudo, a deep truth, that should be offered to the world and not held as something only available to the Japanese.
Since returning to the UK in 1975, I have established the Meishin Kyudojo in Kent, and been heavily involved in the development of the United Kingdom Kyudo Association and European Kyudo Federation.
TS: A while back we got into a conversation about how people make quick and lazy assumptions about the way things work in Japanese culture, I think your phrase was, “they were…and they weren’t” outlining the contradictory nature of things Japanese. It also brings to mind the idea that in Japan, both currently and historically, it is the rebels against the system who are often the people who get things done….
MC: What I think I said, or at least meant to say, was that ‘the opposite can also be true’ - for anything, but I think this is particularly true when looking at a different culture from the outside, and we need to be cautious about making speculative or generalised statements.
I’m not sure who you mean by rebels, it is not something I have thought about much, but I suppose if we are talking generally, progress is often made, in all cultures, by people who challenge existing thinking. This is a definition of creativity and why we need creative people.
However, I’m not sure how this relates to Kyudo practice which is about meticulously following a path and preserving something precious to pass on to others. I think most people feel the need to balance their lives by engaging in areas that are different from their usual lifestyle or day to day existence. This may take the form of traditional sports, crafts or pursuits. Some may be relatively informal, conducted for simple pleasure or distraction, but others may have a more serious intent and require a deeper commitment. I found this to be particularly so in Japan. It is not uncommon to find someone working, for example, in a high-tech, innovative job in the daytime and coming home to do Tea Ceremony, Calligraphy or something like Kyudo, in the evening. This flexibility of thinking, is one of the refreshing things about living in Japan, and one I miss very much.
TS: While you were in Japan did you encounter other westerners studying either Kyudo or other martial arts?
MC: Regarding Kyudo; not at all. The only occasion was when I went to the Shimogamo Shrine in Kyoto to see a demonstration of Yabusame (Kyudo on horseback) by the Ogasawara Ryu. One of the assistants walking in the opening ceremony, was clearly a foreigner, but it was very crowded and I never got to meet him.
TS: How did you manage to survive and make a living while you were in Japan? I think you did some work as a movie extra? Would you care to share? [‘The Yakuza’ 1974, directed by Sydney Pollack]
MC: Of course, I had a grant from the Japanese government, but I was permitted to earn some extra, which I did by teaching English, which I am sure is a practice which continues to this day.
In addition, while I was in Kyoto I got the occasional job working as an extra for a major film company, and I did work on ‘The Yakuza’. I say ‘work’, rather than ‘appear’ because, to this day, I have looked and looked and can’t see myself. I should be in the background over the shoulder of Robert Mitchum when he is meeting the Yakuza Boss at the Kyoto International Conference Centre. If anybody thinks they can see me, I am way, way, in the distance, wearing a camelhair coat (yes, I know…) and walking with a Japanese lady. I spent the whole day, walking up and down but think I must have ended up on the cutting room floor - but, it paid very well.
Original movie poster for ‘The Yakuza’.
The system was organised by a Dutch student at Kyoto University, and he would contact you when required. Another notable occasion was a ‘Karate Kid’ style film sequence, (very low budget) meant to be in a diner in rural USA, none of us were American, and the Karate Kid’s ‘American’ mother was played by a Russian expat whose English nobody could understand, and who couldn’t understand the director’s instructions. It took a whole day and we consumed quite a lot of free beer, rather mistakenly provided by the film crew! Happy days.
TS: I believe you moved to the south side of Kyoto and rented a flat, what was it like at that time and in that area?
MC: It was lovely. We had been living in a section of a rather large and splendid old Japanese style house in Kitashirakowa, in the north of the city, which I had got through the college. However it became too expensive and we moved to Tambabashi, near the Fushimi Inari Shinto shrine, famous for its system of tunnels formed by multiple giant red Tori gates, often used in advertising videos. Tambabashi was a complete change, as you came out of the railway station you entered a warren of narrow streets containing low roofed wooden buildings. In the evenings the air was full of the wonderful smells coming from little bars and eateries and if you were lucky, the local Sake Brewery. I can still hear the clanging of the warning signals from the railway crossings and the Cicadas in summer.
When they knew we were moving, the guys from the Dojo appeared with their cars to help transport our possessions. The contrast with Kitashirakawa could not have been greater. Up there it was not uncommon to meet fellow foreigners, including diplomats and other long-term residents, it had a very privileged feel. There were no other foreigners in Tambabashi, or at least I didn’t come across any, and it was definitely not ‘privileged’. We had a six tatami room, in which we lived and slept, a small kitchen (I think, two bottled gas rings, if I remember) and a rudimentary Ofuro (bath).
My eldest son was born while we were there and one of my fond memories is when the local women in our alleyway would come and pick him up from our open shoji (screens) and walk him up and down, singing gently until he went to sleep, and then putting him back in his cot. They nick-named him “Haku Bozu San” (little white priest) because, unlike Japanese babies, he was almost bald. Like everywhere, children are very precious in Japan.
TS: Personally I enjoy the conundrum that Kyudo is a traditional Japanese martial art with only one technique. I believe that this fact alone provides a unique focus for others who follow traditional Japanese disciplines (not just martial arts) to take an example from. It is a kind of condensed, refined study on the raison d'être for human engagement with such disciplines – difficult to explain, but I am sure it says something profound about humanity and the urge to engage in Art forms. As an insider, how do you begin to explain such a phenomenon?
MC: This is where the practice of Kyudo comes closest to Zen practice. As an ostensibly static, target activity it requires the marrying of precise technique and posture with composure and focus. Because of its slowness of pace and amount of preparatory movements, It exposes the individual to the negative effects of self-consciousness and requires them to work at overcoming this. At its most profound level, this is its true purpose.
TS: In one of my recent Substack posts I think I took a premature swing at Herrigel’s book ‘Zen in the Art of Archery, I know you have a different take on this book; I wonder if you could share your views?
MC: I first read this a long time ago in the 60’s when it was something of a cult classic spawning many references, notably, ‘Zen in the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ by Robert Pirsig. I can only speak for myself, but I found both of them very good reads. What unites them is the desire to explore the nature of understanding, and in the case of Herrigel, this is related to Kyudo practice.
The historical context is very important. Whether by luck or design, Herrigel studied with one of the most influential teachers of the first half of the twentieth century, Awa Kenzo Sensei, whose teachings were passed down through other notable teachers, including Anzawa Heijiro Sensei and form part of the modern approach to Kyudo. As a reflection of the respect in which Herrigel was held, Anzawa Sensei was on his way to visit Herrigel’s grave in Germany when he made the historic visit to London in 1968 (see above).
As a professor of philosophy, an understanding of Zen is clearly Herrigel’s main concern. Because of his background, he naturally applies an analytical approach which can be rather impenetrable at times and, of course, exposes the paradox of writing about something which is not intended to be explained intellectually, but only transmitted through experience.
This is a classic dilemma facing anybody wishing to write about Zen. However, it has to be acknowledged that, without books like this we would probably not know it existed. Personally, I am very glad he wrote it.
The strength of the book is that it exemplifies his key points through an actual activity. The descriptions of Awa Sensei’s teaching would be easily recognised by Kyudo practitioners in Japan today, where he is still held in high esteem, and is a very good account of the learning process, including personal observations about some of the struggles involved.
My feeling is that, although the sections on Kyudo make more sense if you are a practitioner, it remains of considerable interest for the general reader. I am sure this accounts for the fact that it is has remained available as a paperback since the first English version appeared in 1953. As a book, regardless of the slightly antiquated style, it is well structured and easy to read. My only complaint would be that the most recent penguin version is published under their ‘religion’ section and is illustrated on the cover by images of western archery arrows!
Mike Cundy thank you very much.
Mike Cundy and Tim Shaw.
To be continued.
In part 2 Mike explains his experiences studying Shodo (traditional calligraphy) in Japan and the connection with Kyudo.
I noticed The Art of Archery was in the religion section when I bought it a few months ago. It was next to D.T. Suzuki's Essays on Zen Buddhism. It *is* weird, not just because budo is not religion, but even some Zen practitioners I've read wouldn't even want to classify Zen as a religion either.
I only noticed just now that the arrows and target on the cover are Western though. Huh.